I was bored
I was bored and didn't want to do school work.
The cursor flashed idly for a few seconds as he stared at the bright monitor. He had been staring at the same few sentences for the past thirty minutes, stumped about what to write and confused about what he had already written. Some sort of scientific mumbo-jumbo that only PhD holders in the field would understand. Why, then, would a freshman undergraduate student be forced to manufacture such a dry and mindless dissonance of words? The procedure had been carried out thousands, if not millions of times before he was forced to write about it. The professors themselves conceived the idea although probably not originally conceived the idea. Some brilliant yet troubled mind immortalized in the pages of history originally conceived the idea. The theory had been proven although not really proven as the professors would say, merely “displayed.” So why then would he need to prove it again? He had turned in papers like this before except with a few different words and different numbers. His grades were mediocre to good, never exceptional, as it always had been. Of course, now that professors arbitrarily pick numbers to grade by, he didn’t really have any idea of his progress in class. He didn’t understand the material; he wouldn’t retain the material; he wouldn’t ever use the material again, yet he was getting by.
He realized he was day dreaming again, despite the day being done for a few hours now and the day not quite ready to begin anew yet. He was getting no where and getting there fast. It was time for a much needed albeit undeserved break. A frustrated sigh escaped his chapped lips as he rose from his standard issue chair and exited his standard issue 10 by 10 existing room. He refrained from calling it a living room because he never felt alive here. He existed there. Had he felt alive lately? The chap stick’s pale blue color caught his eye as he continued pondering the last time he felt alive.
The pseudo-deep thoughts of a college freshman were quickly interrupted when he realized he was missing the reason he wanted to take a break: his cigarettes. They certainly weren’t in his pajama pants because they had no pockets. A quick scan of his floor resulted in the rediscovery of his jeans. They were in his left butt pocket right where he left them. Of course they were crushed. Still, the now-fading rush of nicotine would provide a welcome respite from this dull numbness he felt.
He was outside. How his stream of consciousness was interrupted between the time it took to get from the third floor of his building to the patio outside was beyond him. Regardless, he was outside now. A faint hint of spring could be felt in the air, but the season was still winter. His lips felt dry. He forgot to bring the chap stick. He sat down on the top step leading to the main entrance and reached for his smokes and his lighter. Did he bring a lighter? They’re so cheap and replaceable anyway.
“Hey there,”
To his left was a moderate looking girl. Nothing great. Nothing terrible. Maybe it was the dim lighting. Maybe it was her appearance. He was still caught off guard that she didn’t awkwardly avoid eye contact to avoid awkward hellos, not that anyone actually says “Hello” anymore.
“Hey,” He licked his lips only to realize it would feel worse in a few seconds. Maybe she’ll go away, not that he wants her to.
“What’s up?”
She wanted a conversation. People say “How are you?” when they want to seem polite but not put forth actual effort into a conversation.
A low “Not much,” was all he could muster with his soft voice. “How about you?”
“Oh not much,” He knew she would say that. “I was having trouble sleeping, so I went for a little walk, but that only got my blood flowing, so now I’m more awake, and then when I was coming back, I saw you, so I decided to talk to you, so here I am.”
She really wanted a conversation. She was still standing up to maintain that distance but was fully facing him. He took note of this and was flattered. In the process, he gave her another scan to discover she had a pleasant figure. Petite, not lanky. Pleasant. He licked his lips again. That chap stick would be wonderful right now, along with some real pants, not pajama pants.
“So what are you doing out here?” She asked with her feminine voice as she placed her hands at her hips.
“Oh just taking a break. I’ve been doing a lot of work.” He hadn’t.
“Oh where do you work?”
“Oh no, no, I meant school work.”
Her face squinted up as she gave an embarrassed giggle.
“That was stupid of me. I mean, if you were on break at work, you’d probably still be at work in the break room or something, right? But it’s really late anyway, so why would you be working? Anyways, that was just stupid of me.”
A sheepish smile and a reassuring chuckle told her it was fine. She sat down next to him now. He just realized his slouching posture and straightened up for her. Again, he licked his lips.
“What were you studying?”
“I wasn’t really studying. Just doing some work.”
“Okay, I gotcha. I’m sorry, I’m so stupid. My name is Christine.” She stuck out her hand like a man would, but she couldn’t escape her delicate femininity. He looked down at it just long enough to register what she wanted him to do but also too long to make it a little awkward. He extended his hand to meet hers.
“Nice to meet you, Christine.” He said as he shook her soft hand. He
didn’t know it but he was smiling. Maybe because of how she was smiling at him.
“I’m --“ He heard an obnoxious rap ring tone emanate from her hip pocket.
“Hold on a second,” She broke their bond as she reached for her phone.
“This’ll only take a second,” she whispered. He watched her as she stood up. “Hey sweetheart!” She said as she greeted the “unknown” caller. “Oh not much just walking around campus,” She responded. She headed towards the door and waved a final good-bye, contrary to what she had said a few seconds before.
A frustrated sigh escaped his chap lips as he rose up from the top step. He vacantly returned to his existing room.
The cursor flashed idly for a few seconds as he stared at the bright monitor. He had been staring at the same few sentences for the past thirty minutes, stumped about what to write and confused about what he had already written. Some sort of scientific mumbo-jumbo that only PhD holders in the field would understand. Why, then, would a freshman undergraduate student be forced to manufacture such a dry and mindless dissonance of words? The procedure had been carried out thousands, if not millions of times before he was forced to write about it. The professors themselves conceived the idea although probably not originally conceived the idea. Some brilliant yet troubled mind immortalized in the pages of history originally conceived the idea. The theory had been proven although not really proven as the professors would say, merely “displayed.” So why then would he need to prove it again? He had turned in papers like this before except with a few different words and different numbers. His grades were mediocre to good, never exceptional, as it always had been. Of course, now that professors arbitrarily pick numbers to grade by, he didn’t really have any idea of his progress in class. He didn’t understand the material; he wouldn’t retain the material; he wouldn’t ever use the material again, yet he was getting by.
He realized he was day dreaming again, despite the day being done for a few hours now and the day not quite ready to begin anew yet. He was getting no where and getting there fast. It was time for a much needed albeit undeserved break. A frustrated sigh escaped his chapped lips as he rose from his standard issue chair and exited his standard issue 10 by 10 existing room. He refrained from calling it a living room because he never felt alive here. He existed there. Had he felt alive lately? The chap stick’s pale blue color caught his eye as he continued pondering the last time he felt alive.
The pseudo-deep thoughts of a college freshman were quickly interrupted when he realized he was missing the reason he wanted to take a break: his cigarettes. They certainly weren’t in his pajama pants because they had no pockets. A quick scan of his floor resulted in the rediscovery of his jeans. They were in his left butt pocket right where he left them. Of course they were crushed. Still, the now-fading rush of nicotine would provide a welcome respite from this dull numbness he felt.
He was outside. How his stream of consciousness was interrupted between the time it took to get from the third floor of his building to the patio outside was beyond him. Regardless, he was outside now. A faint hint of spring could be felt in the air, but the season was still winter. His lips felt dry. He forgot to bring the chap stick. He sat down on the top step leading to the main entrance and reached for his smokes and his lighter. Did he bring a lighter? They’re so cheap and replaceable anyway.
“Hey there,”
To his left was a moderate looking girl. Nothing great. Nothing terrible. Maybe it was the dim lighting. Maybe it was her appearance. He was still caught off guard that she didn’t awkwardly avoid eye contact to avoid awkward hellos, not that anyone actually says “Hello” anymore.
“Hey,” He licked his lips only to realize it would feel worse in a few seconds. Maybe she’ll go away, not that he wants her to.
“What’s up?”
She wanted a conversation. People say “How are you?” when they want to seem polite but not put forth actual effort into a conversation.
A low “Not much,” was all he could muster with his soft voice. “How about you?”
“Oh not much,” He knew she would say that. “I was having trouble sleeping, so I went for a little walk, but that only got my blood flowing, so now I’m more awake, and then when I was coming back, I saw you, so I decided to talk to you, so here I am.”
She really wanted a conversation. She was still standing up to maintain that distance but was fully facing him. He took note of this and was flattered. In the process, he gave her another scan to discover she had a pleasant figure. Petite, not lanky. Pleasant. He licked his lips again. That chap stick would be wonderful right now, along with some real pants, not pajama pants.
“So what are you doing out here?” She asked with her feminine voice as she placed her hands at her hips.
“Oh just taking a break. I’ve been doing a lot of work.” He hadn’t.
“Oh where do you work?”
“Oh no, no, I meant school work.”
Her face squinted up as she gave an embarrassed giggle.
“That was stupid of me. I mean, if you were on break at work, you’d probably still be at work in the break room or something, right? But it’s really late anyway, so why would you be working? Anyways, that was just stupid of me.”
A sheepish smile and a reassuring chuckle told her it was fine. She sat down next to him now. He just realized his slouching posture and straightened up for her. Again, he licked his lips.
“What were you studying?”
“I wasn’t really studying. Just doing some work.”
“Okay, I gotcha. I’m sorry, I’m so stupid. My name is Christine.” She stuck out her hand like a man would, but she couldn’t escape her delicate femininity. He looked down at it just long enough to register what she wanted him to do but also too long to make it a little awkward. He extended his hand to meet hers.
“Nice to meet you, Christine.” He said as he shook her soft hand. He
didn’t know it but he was smiling. Maybe because of how she was smiling at him.
“I’m --“ He heard an obnoxious rap ring tone emanate from her hip pocket.
“Hold on a second,” She broke their bond as she reached for her phone.
“This’ll only take a second,” she whispered. He watched her as she stood up. “Hey sweetheart!” She said as she greeted the “unknown” caller. “Oh not much just walking around campus,” She responded. She headed towards the door and waved a final good-bye, contrary to what she had said a few seconds before.
A frustrated sigh escaped his chap lips as he rose up from the top step. He vacantly returned to his existing room.